


My Friends…And Omega

by hanktalkin



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Dissociative Identity Disorder, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Multiple Personalities
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-05
Updated: 2018-07-08
Packaged: 2019-06-05 21:26:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15179735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hanktalkin/pseuds/hanktalkin
Summary: AU where the AI are Church’s headmates.





	1. i love you*

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: the portrayal of multiple people sharing a body is meant to mimic RvB canon rather than real life dissociative identity disorder

“So that’s it then? You just have a bunch of voices in your head?”

Church gives him a look that tells him exactly how stupid he thinks that question is. “No shit dumbass. That’s what I just fucking said.”

Tucker kicks his legs out over the arm of the sofa, rolling his eyes at his suitemate’s typical asshole-ness. “No, you said some shitty esoteric bullshit that doesn’t make sense unless I translate it from nerd-talk.” He leans back, tucking his arms under his head. “So yeah, voices.”

It takes a lot well practiced indifference to ignore Church’s death glare, but Tucker manages, swinging his legs as he mulls it over.

He waits (specifically to be a pain in the ass) until Church is back to working on his advanced robotics project, to ask him, “if you have like, multiple personalities ‘n shit, don’t you have to go to a shrink instead of a preppy university?”

The sound Church makes at the back of his throat could be described as _exasperatedly disgusted._ “Okay, first off fucker-”

“It’s pronounced ‘Tucker’.”

Church flips him off. Tucker flips him off back.

Church changes tactics and holds up a different finger. “One, it’s ‘dissociative identity disorder,’ not ‘multiple personalities.’ No one says that shit anymore.”

“You just said that shit!”

“Second,” another finger, “I don’t need some babysitter just because I’ve got fucked up shit going on. Plus, you’re one to talk. You’re like halfway to chronic depression with how much ice cream you eat.”

“Hey! Fuck you!” Tucker rolls on his side. “You would too if you had to take philosophy of environmentalism.”

“I took that last term."

“God I hate you.”

“Mutual, cockbite.”

* * *

Needless to say, Church wasn’t Tucker’s first choice as a suitemate.

He tried doing the compatibility survey Chorus University sends out at the start of every academic year but didn’t get back jack. No one was even close to compatible with him, and September came up fast with his prospects being zilch, zero, nada. It was sucky enough living in the Freshman dorms, but if no one was going to work with him here, then he was going to have to either get an apartment or pay for a solo suite—neither of which he could afford with his dad only covering tuition.

So that’s how he came to shack up with the only other person less desirable than Lavernius Tucker: Leonard L. Church Jr.

If even if the survey results _quick to anger_ and _doesn’t along with others_ weren’t a clue to exactly the sort of person Church would be, then that goddamned name was. Nobody had _Jr._ slapped on their back without being a pretentious asshole.

The first thing Church said when Tucker walked in the suite door, “well, it’s my goddamned life, and I don’t remember asking your opinion.”

Of course that was because he was talking on the phone, and didn’t seem to notice Tucker standing in the doorframe with the first of his boxes.

“Yeah. Whatever. Bye.” That was one of the last polite things he’d ever hear Church say. Church mashed the decline on his phone, and turned to see Tucker watching. “Oh great. You’re here.”

“Well fuck you to you too, dude,” Tucker snorted. He wanted to set his box down, but everywhere in the apartment was covered in _stuff_ : half-finished puzzles, miniature screwdrivers and pliers, non-textbook books for some reason. Tucker pushed aside a box full of pogs just to get in. “I can feel the bonding already.”

“Well don’t get used to it because the extent of our mutually-undesirable relationship stops here.” Church tossed his phone onto a pile of old clothes. It was only the morning of move-in day, and somehow Church looked like he’d been living here for _weeks_ , a mystery Tucker has yet to solve to this day. “There are three ground rules here at casa de Church: one, do not talk to me. Two, the Starbucks iced frappuccino drinks in the fridge are mine, don’t touch them unless you want wake up in the middle of the night with your head inside your own ass. Three, don’t talk to me.”

“What the h-”

“Bup! Rules one and three! Watch your ass.” With that he turned, scooped what looked to be a miniature tank off the coffee table, and walked out of the common.

“Fuckass,” Tucker muttered. The next year was gunna suck.

* * *

“So how do you tell them all apart? You got names for them or something?” They’re once again sitting in the shared living room, Church fiddling with his robot and Tucker pretending to do his anatomy homework. Since Church fessed up about the personality thing, Tucker’s gone from thinking it’s weird, to thinking it’s _really_ weird but also kind of fascinating.

Church grabs a tiny screwdriver and adjusts the road wheel on the tank.

When he continues to ignore him, Tucker leans over and pokes him with a socked foot. “Are you listening to me dude? C’mon, I want to know how this shit works.”

“Since when have you wanted to know how _anything_ works?” Church asks. “You’re the least inquisitive person I’ve every had the dumb shit luck of meeting.”

“Uh, because this is something that’s actually interesting?” He pokes Church again, and gets his foot swatted in retaliation. But since Tucker isn’t _actively_ being a dick, Church chills out moderately.

He changes his position on the carpet before deigning to answer. “Of course we have names. Do you know how confusing everyone being ‘Church’ would be?”

“‘We?’” Tucker shifts, suddenly unsure where these questions are going to take him. “So you’re not…Am I not talking to Church right now?”

Church sighs. “We’re all _Church_ , I just happen to be the one who does most of the boring, day-to-day shit.” He waves his fingers mystically. “I’m Epsilon. I speak for the trees.”

Tucker stares at Church—Epsilon?—and thumbs the edge of his anatomy textbook. Church’s eyes are super green at the moment, and it kind of feels like he’s looking at him for the first time.

“So,” Tucker probes again, “why do you get to be the one to talk?”

“I’m told it’s because I won’t shut up.”

That gets a snort, and Church’s face relaxes incrementally. Tucker hadn’t noticed how tense he was in the first place; this whole conversation actually seems to be making Church even more pissy than his usual brand of high-strung.

“Okay, that’s cool.” Tucker peers at Church, as though trying to see the other personalities just by looking at him. “What about the others? Are they as much of a dick as you?”

“No,” Church says immediately, then, “Yes? Some of them are. Most of them don’t hate you as much as I do. ‘Cept for Beta, she thinks you’re a pig.”

“Whoa!” Tucker sits up, homework slipping off his chest. “ _She??_ You’ve had a chick in your head this whole time and you haven’t told me?”

Church groans. “I am already regretting this.”

“Do you know if she’s seeing anyone? How hot is she?”

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Church says, “well she shares a body with me so-”

“So super hot is what you’re saying.”

Church picks Tucker’s homework off the floor and flings it into his face.

When it slides off him and into its original position, it reveals Tucker’s grin. “You’re pretty calm about this, you know. Most people would try to hide that shit.”

Church shrugs, screwing a wheel to his satisfaction. “I’m homeschooled. Everyone I interacted with up until new already knew.”

“Really?” Holy shit. He knows Church isn’t found of people but that’s got to be some kind of record. “You telling me you didn’t talk with anyone your first two years?”

Shrugging again, Church fiddles more with his robot. It looks like his mind is somewhere else. “Lived at home.”

Something in his tone makes Tucker drop it. “Okay, fine, you’re a sheltered little shut-in. But what about this year? I mean we weren’t exactly close when you told me.”

“We’re still not close, Tucker.”

“Yeah, but I’ve stopped spitting in your special coffee every time you piss me off, so that has to count for something.”

It’s also got to count for something that instead of flipping him off, Church just rolls his eyes. Progress.

He settles back into his project, and Tucker picks up his homework once again. It strikes him that he could totally just do it in his own room, but already lying down makes the terrible company worth it. Plus, there are so many more chances to procrastinate when there’s someone else around.

* * *

In one of the rare moments when Church isn’t elbow deep in his yearlong project, Tucker asks him, “so how many of you are there?”

Church pushes the last edge piece into puzzle of a snowy landscape, blinking mildly behind his glasses. “Don’t know.”

“What?” Tucker drops down opposite him, thumping against the carpet with an _umph_. “How can you not know? Don’t you guys all have to work together to Jaeger your Church body?”

Either Church is too absorbed in his puzzle or they’ve reached a point in their relationship where Tucker’s endless question parades no longer annoy him. “It’s not that simple. Just because me and Beta and Delta have been around forever doesn’t mean everyone else has. And sometimes new people show up and it’s not for sure if that’s just another part of somebody who’s already here, or an entirely new headmate, or what.” He sticks the first of the center pieces into the puzzle. “Honestly, I’m not convinced Eta and Iota are even two different things.”

“Whoa whoa whoa slow down man.” Tucker’s eyes dart around the suite, seeing if he’s left a pen and paper anywhere. “You can’t keep dropping names on me, I can’t remember them all.”

“Welcome to my world.” Church puts another one down with a _click_.

Tucker rummages through his backpack ( _yes_ he still has one, he hates running back to his suite, cut him some slack) and pulls out some three-hole paper and an incredibly chewed down pencil.

“K, I’m ready,” he says, tucking his knees under the table. “Shoot.”

“I told you it’s not that simple.” Church raises his eyebrow at him. “Now fuck off, you keep jostling the table.”

Tucker considers jostling the table even more to get what he wants, but realizes that probably won’t be effective. Instead he crams the paper back in his backpack with a huff, and glares at the back of Church’s head.

Fine. If Epsilon doesn’t want to be helpful, Tucker can make friends the old fashioned way.

* * *

Delta is the easiest.

Church talks about him enough that Tucker knows he’s the one who handles the copious amounts of schoolwork that comes with being a Mechanical Engineering major. He’s not so bad: cool and rational when he’s “piloting” and seems to actually be fond of Tucker. In fact, he’s the one that makes Tucker realize that if he can get the different personalities to be “comfortable” with him, they’re more likely to show their faces.

He starts doing puzzles with him. Delta doesn’t say anything at first, but Tucker notices that as the new year rolls around, Church becomes less and less of an obnoxious emotional sinkhole.

Meeting Theta isn’t hard either. Each of the personalities get mentioned at one point or the other, clues slipping through Church’s everyday conversation about what everyone up there is thinking. Tucker’s able to nail down Theta’s intense love for stuffed animals when it doesn’t line up with any of the known Church-bits.

(The whole stuffed animal thing was quite the discovery itself.

Tucker avoided Church’s room as much as humanly possible, mostly because the door was always blockaded by endless piles of Church’s crap. But he was so pissed that the fucker had eaten his Häagen-Dazs Brownie Truffle that he stormed in-

Only to find Church laying upon piles and piles of plushies. Seriously, he didn’t even see a _mattress_ under all the toys, Church’s body sinking into the folds of fur like it was the world’s fluffiest memory foam.

At the sound of his door flying open, Church lifted his head, blinking sleepily at the Tucker in his doorway. He was adorable somehow, which is a thing Church should never be. “What do you want, jackass?”

Tucker stared. Then shook his head. He gestured madly between Church and the stuffed animals, finally eking out a, “toys dude?” as his only explanation.

Church looked down blearily, then up at his intruder. “…Yeah?”

And that’s all Tucker got. At that point he had to close the door in defeat, not sure he was going to recover from seeing a grown man not even the least bit ashamed about a bed of stuffing.)

So when Tucker presents the stuffed puma to Theta, he’s unsurprised—yet pleased—when Church’s face light’s up. The moment doesn’t last long, those bright green eyes immediately narrowing in suspicion.

“You didn’t put your dick on this, did you?”

“What? No!” Tucker makes a gagging noise. “Why would I do that?”

“Seems like a Tucker thing to do.”

He’s got Tucker there. “Well I didn’t. This time. Promise.”

Church’s eyes search Tucker, as though he can find the truth buried in that perfectly innocent face. Even as he does, his hands constrict around the puma, and Tucker knows for sure now he’s found the weak point. Eventually the slowly encircling arms turn into an honest to god embrace.

“Okay, there’s no way in hell you’re not up to some bullshit,” Church admits. “But I’m willing to risk it on the principal of free crap.”

Tucker shrugs. But when Church walks off to his room with the stuffed animal clutched to his chest, he allows himself a small smile, knowing he’s two down.

The rest don’t come as easily.

That’s fine with Tucker, it’s not like he’s making it a priority with he’s molecular biology exam rolling around. He’s got better things to do than play Church Pokémon. (Gotta collect ‘em all! Or was it gotta catch ‘em all? Uhg, he needs more sleep.) So he mellows out. He and Epsilon play _Halo_ , Beta doesn’t rear her head, and life goes on.

It isn’t until he discovers the identity of Omega that he resumes his search. For months now his toothbrush has been disappearing, and he doesn’t think it’s Church because what the hell would Church do with a bunch of dollar store toothbrushes?

Or at least, he _didn’t_ think it was Church, until one night he checks the bathroom garbage only to hear some cartoonishly evil laughter coming from the hall. He sticks his head out and Church is just…right there. Just standing pressed against the wall with his hand over his mouth, like that’s doing anything to suppress his giggles. When he sees Tucker glaring at him, his eyes widen, and he fucking _sprints_ down the hall to his own room.

Epsilon doesn’t move at great speed _anywhere_ unless there’s a fire. Sometimes not even then. Tucker narrows his eyes.

After that, he begins to notice that many of Church’s apparent “bad habits” are actually weird pranks, inflicted specifically to get a rise out of Tucker. That doesn’t mean they actually _do_ , (one can only be fooled by the empty milk carton in the fridge trick so many times before one learns their lesson) but that doesn’t make Omega any less gleeful. Epsilon tries to clean up whatever Omega gets himself in to, but sometimes he forgets, leaving Tucker with lone partners of socks and the occasional toilet seat up. So basically bad roommate bull, except with roommate in question hiding behind a lamp and snickering.

Spring begins, and Tucker starts to catch glimpses of Sigma in-between Delta’s work. Church has said as much, that logic isn’t any good without creativity, and it really shows at the miniature tank comes together. Church has told him about the robotics competition at the end of the year, the one with the huge scholarship attached that he intends to get his hands on. There’s a spark in his eye when he says it, an ambition that Tucker actually believes he’ll pull through on.

But thankfully Tucker doesn’t have to take up engineering to win Sigma’s vote. Turns out, all he has to do is binge a twelve hour Lord of the Rings marathon with him, and he’s in the dude’s good graces for life.

Those, as Church puts it, are “all the people worth fucking with.” It’s an odd sort of accomplishment, one Tucker never gets from writing his stupid essays or looking at diagrams of the gastrointestinal system. But the suite has turned into a less shitty place because of it, and Tucker actually feels like he’s settling in. That is, after buying a lot of spare tooth brushes.

* * *

“Oh my godddd, who fucking caarreees,” Tucker whines for what has to be the seventh time today. He slumps until he’s hanging upside down on the front of the couch.

“If you’re going to be a little bitch about this I don’t have to help you,” Church says, flicking a page of Tucker’s (incredibly illegible) genetics notes. “I have other things I could be doing.”

Lolling his head back, Tucker says, “fine, I get it. Go running back into Sheila’s arms instead of mine. She’ll never love you like I do.”

Church sputters. “How the-! Where the _fuck_ did you hear her name?”

“Theta told me,” Tucker grins.

Church is quiet for a moment, either reviewing old memories or just asking Theta himself. Finally he mutters, “little bastard.”

Rooming with a junior has its perks. Church went through most of Tucker’s classes just last year, which means he sometimes still has essays and crap that Tucker can copy off. But, due to their vastly different majors, not everything overlaps, and sometimes Tucker finds himself failing two classes at once.

“Well fine,” Church finally admits. “At least working on Sheila is productive. Trying to get you to pass genetics is pointless, will result in you flunking out, and leave me without a goddamn suitemate.”

“Yeah.” Tucker manages and upside-down shrug. “Probably.”

“Why are you even majoring in Biology? You know that’s for like people trying to become doctors, right? You absolutely do not have the mental capacity to make it through medical school.”

“Funny story about that actually. Start of freshman year I thought to myself: Lavernius? You know what you’re an expert in? Anatomy.” He winks. “ _Bow chicka bow wow_.”

“Eugh.” Chuck looks at him in mild disgust. “Seriously, why the fuck are you doing this to yourself?”

Tucker’s face falls. “No. That was really it.”

“Oh my god. You are so fucked.”

And he’s right. Tucker isn’t sure he’s going to make it through this term, at least not without some serious tutoring or some shit. He rolls up into a sitting position, rubbing his eyes. “I shouldn’t have even got into this place. I spent most of my time in high school forging my report card so my dad wouldn’t flip.”

“Well Veronica Sawyer-ing it isn’t going to help you now,” Church says, waving a colored picture of a genome in his face. “Come on, pay attention.”

Tucker raises an eyebrow. “‘Veronica Sawyer-ing it’? God, you’re such a fucking nerd.”

“Fuck you slut-for-brains!” Church says. “I’m trying to help you. And I’m not a fucking nerd.”

“Uh, you’re a robot major, it comes with the territory. Plus, your name is literally Len-NERD. You’re exactly the sort of person I used to shove into lockers two years ago.”

Church laughs viciously. “ _You?_ You want me to believe that you were some sort of football-playing jock in high school? Please Tucker, you can barely even lift the couch to vacuum—I could beat your ninety-pounds-sopping-wet ass any day.”

Tucker rises. He’s up on his knees now, to give himself height over the back of the couch and Church. “Is that a bet, _Leonard_?”

“Yeah, it’s a b-”

Tucker pounces him. Springing mid-word, he gets the drop on Church, rushing to pin him down and show who’s the fucking boss around here-

Only to land on empty couch with an _oomph_. Church is gone, slipped out Tucker’s grasp like a goddamned cat, faster than he thought any non-Omega persona should be able to move. Not only that, but as he slides along the back of the couch he somehow manages to grab _Tucker’s_ arm instead of the other way around. Tucker fights, trying sweep a leg or suplex him or anything else they do in Kung Fu movies in order to get a little leverage, but all his strength doesn’t do jack. All the sudden his leg is yanked backwards, spinning him around and forcing his back onto the cushions.

Church is there, smirking above him. In less than six seconds he’s totally disarmed Tucker, something that shouldn’t be possible with those skinny-ass arms. But here they are anyway; Tucker squirms, looking for any give, just a hint that the fight isn’t completely over, but no luck.

“Double or nothing?” Church says with his smug bastardface.

“Fuck no dude!” Tucker whines. “I’m not letting you do your weird teleporting shit on me again!”

Church chuckles, not the least bit winded from their altercation. Then why is Tucker? In fact, as he stares up at Church—looking at a glint in his eye he’s never seen before—he even feels his mouth go a little dry.

“Let me up asshole, I have cells to divide.” But before Church does, Tucker looks at him one last time, puts together the clues, and thinks to himself, _hi Beta_.


	2. **and that's "you" in the collective sense

The first sign of trouble is when Tucker comes home one day to find a chick he doesn’t know standing in the suite.

Well okay, in retrospect there were a lot of others signs that things were not all peachy-keen in the Church family, but Tucker isn’t known for being highly observant. So the first time he realizes something is up is when the redhead turns, narrows her eyes, and glares at him as though he’s forgotten to put on pants or something. (And like, come on. He hasn’t streaked since Freshman year.)

“Whoa dude,” Tucker says to Church, who’s standing immediately behind the girl, “put a sock on the door. We got a code of honor around here.”

Church rubs his temples.

The chick turns back to Church, pointedly ignoring everything that comes out of Tucker’s mouth. “Don’t run yourself into the ground alright? I’ll see you Sunday.”

“No offense Lina, but working my ass off is exactly what I need to be doing.” The tightness in Church’s voice makes Tucker think he’s walked in on a freshly concluded argument.

“I’ll handle it,” Carolina responds.

“You’ve said that before.”

“I’ll handle it,” she repeats, this time in a voice that clearly says _end of discussion_.

Despite the curtness, she does reach forward and put a hand on Church’s forearm, giving it a tight squeeze before she departs. Tucker steps aside as she passes. He gets the feeling that if he didn’t, he’d barrel him right over.

Tucker waits approximately zero seconds after Carolina leaves before tearing into Church. “Why didn’t you tell me you had a girlfriend dude!? As my suitemate you like, legally have to let me know who you’re banging. Also? Super hot. I mean not exactly my type, but I know how nerds are into girls that look like rugby players and can break your spine.”

If Church were rubbing his head any harder he’d split it like a melon. “You would not believe how much I fucking hate you.”

Tucker shrugs. “I’d believe a lot of things.”

“First off perv, that’s my fucking sister,” Church spits. “Second, I know you’d believe a lot of things since there’s gullible written on the ceiling.”

“Nice try asshole,” Tucker says. “Not falling for that a third time.”

Church gives up, and goes back to work on Sheila. Tucker’s not about to let it go.

“So what was your sister doing here then?” he asks, trying to sit on the couch only to realize it’s full of screws. “Does she go here?”

“None of your business, and no, she doesn’t.” Church doesn’t lift his head, but he looks like he’s on the verge of throwing something.

“Oh.” Tucker thinks for a moment. “…Is she single?”

A pair of pliers go whizzing past his head.

* * *

Even someone as obtuse as Tucker can’t ignore things now. Church doesn’t talk to him anymore: doesn’t do puzzles or turn on the Xbox, just retreats further day by day as he falls into his project. The only reason Tucker actually gets to know what’s wrong is because Church decides answer his phone in the middle of the goddamned night.

“Why am I even talking to you?” Church growls. “You think I’m going to change my mind? Come crawling back like your little fucking lap dog that shakes and shits itself daily?”

Tucker’s seen Church angry. How could he not? Church doesn’t the emotional scope of a normal person, oh no, there’s only two settings on that motherfucker: not giving a shit and _absolute fucking meltdown_. When his poptarts take too long he bends spoons until they snap; when he looses a capture the flag match for the third time in a row he throws his controller so hard he dents their busted old TV. But this…

Tucker’s honestly a little scared.

Church is quiet as he listens to the other end of the phone. “No.” Another pause. “No. Unless you’re willing treat me like a person, don’t call back.”

He hangs up, clutching his phone so hard Tucker thinks he might smash it into the kitchen counter. But instead he twitches, noticing Tucker watching him.

“Ever hear of a private conversation dipshit?” he asks. Thankfully, his anger is just a random lighting strike shooting off a much bigger storm (that isn’t headed toward Tucker, fortunately.)

“Dude, it’s not private if you’re having a hissy fit outside my room,” Tucker points out. “Who was that anyway?”

And for once Church is so mad at someone else that he doesn’t have the capacity to not stop talking about it. “That, my dear Tucker, was Dr. Leonard Church Sr.. The most controlling, sociopathic motherfucker this side of the goddamned sun.”

“Oh. So he’s your dad?”

“Yup.”

“That explains so much.” Tucker walks further into the kitchen and leans on the counter. “Why is he calling you in the middle of the night?”

“Don’t know. Probably one of his fucking mind games.” Church rubs a hand down his face and Tucker gets the feeling he’s about to hear something big. “My dad doesn’t want me here. ‘Here’ being anywhere that isn’t right under his goddamned nose, or dancing along like a trained monkey to his psychotic fucking tune.”

Suddenly Church has one of the knives from the drawer, halfheartedly stabbing it into the countertop. Thankfully it’s a butter knife, so Tucker’s not too concerned.

“He didn’t want me move out in the first place, wants me at home so he can keep an eye on me and make sure ‘my condition doesn’t worsen’. Fucker. Didn’t want me in engineering. Didn’t want me _embarrassing him_. He took one look at my schedule for next year and threw a fit—now he won’t _stop calling me_ and I can’t even block him because _he pays for the phone_.” Church slumps, suddenly, the force of whisper-yelling taking everything out of him. “…If I don’t change my schedule by the end of the term, he’s taking out all my funding.”

“… _Shit_ dude,” Tucker mutters. And he thought _his_ family was messed up. “And you can’t like…pay it on your own?”

Church shakes his, and Tucker isn’t surprised. Chorus isn’t a cheap school by a long shot.

“That’s why I’m going to win this fucking competition.” Church says it so quietly, Tucker almost misses as sways his hand back to his bedroom. The place where he keeps Sheila. “I wanted to rub it in his smug face before, but now that scholarship is the end of my fucking life. If I don’t win it, I either find some place that’ll take my credits…or I move back in with him.”

There’s a shadow over Church’s face, a flicker of fear that Tucker thinks is Eta but can’t be quite sure.

“What about your sister?” he asks carefully. “Didn’t she say she could handle it?”

Church rolls the knife with the tip of his finger, then lets it clatter onto the counter. “Lina’s been shielding me my entire fucking life. Or tries to. The older we are the harder it gets.”

Tucker nods like he understands, but he really doesn’t. It’s messed up on so many levels he doesn’t really know where to begin. He considers putting a hand on Church’s arm, like he saw Carolina do, but that just doesn’t feel like a thing he’s supposed to do.

Instead the two of them just sit there in the kitchen, two impossibly incompatible people who can’t make the jump.

* * *

Now that he knows what he’s looking for, it’s hard not to notice how Church drives himself into his work. The months stretch on, the day of the competition growing closer like a shoelace slowly constricting around your throat. Tucker didn’t know second-hand worry was a thing, but he must be catching it, since seeing Church half-dead every hour of the day makes his gut twist.

Church spends some nights with his head on the table, diagrams all around him that are supposed to help. The word _failure_ hangs so heavily in the room that Tucker can taste it, the sharp bitterness of shitty coffee drinks. All those times he’d wished he’d be able to meet Beta, and now she won’t leave the world alone.

* * *

Tucker is only able to make him take a break with—what else?—alcohol.

It’s bad beer but Tucker’s entertaining the idea of being a frat boy and Church doesn’t know the difference. So they get slightly smashed, Tucker peeling him away from his precious robot until they’re so drunk and stupid that they end up slumped over on another on the couch.

“Knock knock.”

“Church, no,” Tucker whines, throwing an arm over his eyes to block the streetlights from outside. “No more.”

“Knock knock,” Church repeats, scooting even closer.

Sighing, Tucker rubs his face and says, “who’s there?”

“Annie.”

“Annie who?”

“Annie way you can let me in now?”

Church laughs, but all Tucker can manage an exhausted groan. Still, it’s nice to see this side of Church again, a part that hasn’t been around in ages. Sure in the morning Church will bitch at him that he’s distracted him from valuable maintenance time, but Tucker knows it’ll be worth it.

“Knock knock.”

“Who’s there?” Tucker asks, not fighting it anymore.

“Hawaii.”

“Hawaii who?”

He can feel Church smirking in the dark of the common as he rolls over and says, “I’m fine. Hawaii you?”

Tucker can’t help himself, and he lets out a snort. Church laughs too, and Tucker backpedals, “no, do _not_ take that as a form of encouragement.”

It’s too late, and Church shoves him in the side, probably already thinking of a million and one other dumb jokes.

“Maybe you should change your major from Biology to Professional Tight-Ass,” Church suggests, getting comfortable in the crook of the couch.

“Are you calling _me_ a tight-ass?” Tucker demands indignantly. “Have you looked in the mirror, Mr. Resting Bitch Face?”

Church laughs drunkenly again, and they lapse into silence. Tucker thinks they might finally pass out like that, until Church suddenly says, “wait. Isn’t your midterm tomorrow?”

“Yesterday,” Tucker corrects, though he can’t help the surprise that Church remembered at all.

“Oh,” Church mumbles, maybe thinking Tucker would have stayed up and studied or something. Then he softly asks, “how’d you do?”

“Passed.” Tucker exhales through his nose. “That’s about all I can say.”

“So you’re not getting kicked out then?”

“No dude. You’re stuck with me for a while.”

That’s the end for Church, his very sudden and weird worry put to rest. Tucker hears his breath slow and thinks how much he deserves a long fucking nap. This is the best he can push Church into though, and he wishes he could help more somehow; anything to make it a little easier on any part of him. Theta, Delta, Sigma…each side of Church is breaking down somehow, either that or have disappeared all together.

A kernel of resolve inside of Tucker. He’s going to help these dickwads, no matter what.

* * *

“ _That’s_ your professor?” Tucker says, his eyebrows furrow in a gesture of _I sure hope it’s not_.

“Yup,” Church says, briefly looking up from the handful of paperwork he has to fill out. “Though do yourself a favor and call him ‘Sarge’. The last guy who kept doing otherwise wound up with Tinnitus.”

Tucker can’t tell if that’s a joke or not, but decides not to risk it. Besides, he’d been planning on avoiding the podium where the old white-haired teacher is yelling about being aware that your robot creations may turn on you one day. Sarge seems delighted by the prospect.

The day of the competition is here, students from every corner of campus shuffling into one sweaty-ass gym to watch metal boxes tear the shit out each other. Tucker’s asked Church how the hell he’s supposed to get a grade on his project if his robot gets its ass beat, but Church assured that he’s gone to a dozen proof of concept meetings with Sarge before this. So he’s all good. He’ll get the grade. Now it’s just the money.

Church has been doing slightly better since the night of drunken knock-knock jokes. Church Sr. hasn’t called since, which Tucker is inclined to believe contributed to his son’s improved wellbeing. There’s still bags under Church’s eyes and he’s drinking straight black coffee out of a thermos, but for once he looks in his element. Tucker’s glad Church brought him along.

“Come on,” Church says, jerking he head. “Our first match is this way.”

Tucker isn’t sure if he’s saying ‘our’ in reference to him and Tucker, or him and Sheila. Either way, Tucker shrugs, and follows him through the throngs of graphic-T wearing nerds. As they go, he recognizes Grif and Simmons from his English class, Simmons carrying a humanoid robot and Grif looking like he’d rather be anywhere else. Tucker doesn’t stop and chat though; he only really knows them because they once had a stupidly long conversation about irony.

As Church sets Sheila down into the ring, Tucker catches sight of his competitor.

“Whoa what the fuck. They let _Caboose_ into one of these things?”

Sure enough, there’s Donut’s suitemate, clutching his robot to his chest and looking around in awe.

Church raises his eyebrows in resignation. “…Yup. Technically they don’t close it off to just engineering majors, so anyone can join. As evidenced.” He gestures to the starstruck Caboose.

“But…his robot is just a cube with wheels glued to is. _Literally_ glued, they don’t even have an axel or anything.”

Church sighs. “Yup.”

The first match lasts forty-eight seconds. Tucker can guess how it’ll end the moment Caboose puts his robot in the ring.

“Okay Freckles!” he cheers. “Go and win! I know you can do it.”

Freckles doesn’t move.

“That is okay, take your time.”

After the match Tucker wanders around, checking out the other competitions that are brewing. Simmons’s robot isn’t doing too bad, though every time it takes a hit it wobbles on its bipedal legs. It looks like the final showdown will come to his and Church’s, but Tucker finds that the crowd around the last fight is too thick to shove through. Yeesh, who knew nerds could be so pushy.

He’s distracted from his attempts to get back to Church when he sees Carolina. She’s up on the bleachers, despite the fact that they’re folded up and surrounded by witnesses. He walks up and says, “how the hell did you do that?”

Carolina notices him, but the din of the competition roars around uninsulated walls. She cups a hand to her ear, then shakes her head. _I can’t hear you._

Tucker sighs. He walks around the bleachers once, twice, until he notices an area in the back that he _might_ be able to get up and not break his neck. He grabs the first step, and gives an experimental pull. Since the whole stand doesn’t immediately topple over and crush him, he shrugs, and clambers up.

Halfway to the top and he thinks this might have been a bad idea. He shouldn’t have skipped leg day this week.

(Okay, last three weeks. Hey studying for finals is no cakewalk man!)

But, against all odds, Tucker manages to haul ramen-fueled, sleep deprived body up to Carolina’s perch, dropping next to her in an exhausted huff.

“Dude,” he tells her. “I am not looking forward to going back down that thing.”

Carolina gives him a sidelong glance, but keeps her attention on the fight.

He shifts, blinking tiredly at her profile. “What are you even doing up here?”

“Same as you.” She gestures to the battle below. “Came here to watch my baby brother kick some ass.”

She’s right; the view is better from up here. As Tucker follows her direction, Sheila twits in his view, its metallic body glinting against the blue floor mats. It swings its canon, catching Simmons’s robot in the chest and making it stagger.

“He’s been fucking them up,” Tucker admits.

“Mm,” Carolina says. Tucker doesn’t realize she’s thinking it through when she says, “he _has_ been doing better lately.”

Tucker looks at her with a perfectly innocent face.

She’s not having it though. “Our dad has stopped hassling him. Usually he’s willing to ride our asses until the ends of the earth, so something pretty convincing must have happened to make him let up.”

There’s no use pretending. He was going to just keep it to himself, but if Carolina’s just going to grill him then, “what can I say? See a poor dude in distress, and Super Tucker is willing to swoop and save the day.”

Carolina’s eyes are just as intense as her brother’s, and she scans Tucker over with sharp detail. Finally, her face relaxes, seemingly satisfied with his general integrity. “What a good Samaritan you are,” she says. She pauses before saying, “but seriously. They’re lucky to have you.”

Tucker isn’t sure what to say to that, not when the words trigger some modesty deep in his chest (a weirdly foreign substance to Tucker’s body.) But he doesn’t have to, since a roar goes up from the crowd, the fight coming to a close. The two spectators look to see Sheila victorious, the two-legged robot now on its side, immobile and forced to surrender. The feeling in Tucker’s chest only gets weirder as he’s filled with pride.

“Well, time to go meet the champion,” Carolina says. With that, she dangles over the side of the bleachers, taking the steps two at a time until she lands on the wood floors below.

“Hey wait!” Tucker calls, but she’s already gone. “ _Fuck_.”

It takes Tucker a good portion of ten minutes to get back down the bleachers, sweat dripping down his back and getting into his shorts. By the time he makes it to the floor he’s engulfed in the throngs of people, all cheering for what was apparently a good fight. Church finds him anyway though, a rare smirk on his face and victory glinting in his eye.

“Hey bitch,” Church greets. “Guess who just pummeled all these cunts back into their mother’s basements?”

Tucker pushes himself off his knees. “You did?”

“I did motherfucker!”

Church swings the trophy around proudly, a little figurine on its podium that looks like R.O.B. from Smash Bros. Sigma couldn’t be stronger, pride brimming out of him so strongly it almost overpowers the BO.

“Nice,” Tucker nods. “Now lets get out of here. You can buy me a beer to celebrate.”

“I’m not buying you a beer dickhead,” Church informs him. “If anything, you should by me a beer, since I’m the one who fucking WON.”

Despite his denial of Tucker’s thirst, he does follow him out of the gym and onto the (wonderfully cool) campus. Tucker doesn’t actually have a plan to where they’re going but he’s happy to just walk in the nighttime air while Church repeatedly inflates his own ego. On any other occasion his constant self-congratulation would be annoying, but Tucker’s just glad to see him out of his wallowing for once.

When he does finally stop, they’ve reached the parking lot above the football field, hanging out on the railing and looking at the green below.

“Hey,” Church says suddenly, as though just remembering. “I ran into Lina on the way out. She said you did something for me?”

Dammit. He should have known better than to think Carolina wouldn’t be all up in Church’s business. He shrugs, “I may have had something to do with your dad fucking off for the past month.”

Church raises an eyebrow. “Did you somehow get him arrested and sent to Guantanamo Bay? Because that’d be fucking perfect if you did.”

“Uh, nothing that involves that much effort dude. What do you take me for? You?” Tucker kicks a stone off the asphalt, sending it careening onto field. “I just uh…well. Since your schedule was all he was pissed about, when he received a better one from Chorus University, he chilled the fuck out.”

“He- _what??_ ” Alarm strikes Church in the face. “Tucker did you fucking forge my schedule?”

“Yeah, and relax dude.” Tucker honestly didn’t think Church would flip this much, more just that things between them would be weird and feelings-y. “It’s not like they’re going to trace it back to me. If he ever finds out, he’s going to come and assblast the school. They won’t know shit.” He shrugs. “It was pretty easy.”

A snort of disbelief. Church looks at him sidelong as though seeing him different for the first time. Tucker tries not to make eye contact.

“But,” Church says after a minute. “I mean. Why?”

Shrugging, Tucker says, “because, despite being fucking awful roommates and managing like thirty different anger management issues, you guys are somehow my friends.”

“Really?” Church knits his brow. “Even Omega?”

“…Most of you are my friends.”

Church laughs, and Tucker feels like he can finally move again. He’s not sure why he was so worried, so certain that Church would freak out if he thought Tucker didn’t one hundred percent hate him. Maybe being voted one of the worst people at the school wasn’t so bad for his prospects after all.

They gaze out over the dark campus, the trophy resting on the rail between them, and Church presses their shoulders together. Tucker lets him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nurse: Doctor, swears compromise at least 2% of all words!  
> Doctor: -takes off glasses sadly- I'm afraid...it's a Red vs Blue fanfiction.


End file.
